


Natural Enemies

by AgusHeredia



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens (TV) RPF, Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Staged (TV 2020)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), British, British Character, British Comedy, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), David Tennant Character Combinations, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Humor, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Michael, I'm Sorry Michael Sheen, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Love, Love Confessions, MichaelAndDavidBeingTwoIdiotsLikeUsual, NOT MICHAEL AND DAVID LOVE, Only Ineffable Husbands Love, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Scotland, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:41:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28836480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgusHeredia/pseuds/AgusHeredia
Summary: What if Michael and David wake up in the world of Good Omens?An angel, a devil, a Welshman and a Scotsman are a chaotic combination.
Comments: 20
Kudos: 49





	Natural Enemies

**Author's Note:**

> Original idea and narration by: Agustina -me- (wildest_ghost on twt).  
> Perfectly translated by: Euge -an intelligent woman- (@aceofspades047 on twt)  
> The most beautiful cover you have ever seen by: Junne -an exceptional artist- (@Junnatve on twt)
> 
> IMPORTANT REMINDER: This is an Alternate Universe where there is no coronavirus or global pandemic (what a dream, isn’t it?)  
> Enjoy!

If you can't see the image, copy and paste this: https://www.instagram.com/p/CKMKs2hlxOJ/

***

He blinked several times and rubbed his eyes hard. It had been a long time since he had slept that way, so deep and comfortable. He really loved sleeping; it was one of his many talents. He yawned, got up, and headed for the bathroom, but hit a wall on the way. He opened his eyes and turned around in fear. This was not the window of his room, nor was this his door; the bathroom had disappeared and now he was on the other side, behind the bed in which he had awakened, which was not his either. _What the hell was going on?_

Suddenly a strange noise caught his attention, and he frowned when he saw someone stirring between the sheets. He quickly searched for a weapon to defend himself and grabbed the first thing he found, a dusty blue porcelain vase.

He was definitely going to die.

“Who you are?” he asked the figure that was beginning to rise. “I have a gun!”

The dark-haired man watched him, scared. This was not his wife, nor did he recall leaving his room in the middle of the night. When their gazes collided, they were both speechless, completely surprised.

“Michael?”

“David?”

“What the heck...?” He looked around for a clue to understand where he was. “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know. What are you doing here?”

“And how am I supposed to know that?!” he replied, annoyed. “Can you lower that vase?”

The curly-haired one set the ornament aside and walked over to his friend. They were not in their homes, nor did there appear to be anything there that belonged to them. Almost instinctively, he went to the door and opened it, making sure they weren’t locked in. Fortunately, the lock immediately gave way.

"This is not a kidnapping," David told him. “Who would want to kidnap us?”

“Obsessed fans.”

“Oh yeah right, how did I not think about that before?” he asked wryly. “Because there are a million people who spend day and night devising a plan to kidnap David Tennant and Michael Sheen.”

“They bought me a fucking cow, David! They know how to do things... Also, when you have a career like mine, it surprises you how much people idolize you.”

“Oh shut up," David spat. “Do you have any idea where we are?”

The bearded man walked to the window and drew the curtains. On the other side there were only shops, cars and people hurriedly walking by. There was also a quaint bookshop on the corner, crammed with books and with the blinds down, but with light inside. This struck him as strange. It was _particularly_ familiar.

He narrowed his eyes to read the initials that were written at the entrance and all around the place, and he immediately took a step back, completely pale and his eyes almost wide. _Oh my God_ , he thought.

“What’s going on?” David asked.

Michael pointed at the window. The Scotsman got up very reluctantly and went there. If it was some kind of joke, it wasn’t funny at all.

"I’ve seen cars before," he said annoyed, looking down the street.

“Not the cars, silly!” he pointed at the old bookshop. “That!”

David frowned and directed his gaze there. There were only a few letters, but he quickly wanted to throw up.

**_Z. Fell. And Co._ **

****

"This is not fun," he exclaimed, leaning back. “You organized this, right? Did you talk to Neil to rebuild the set?”

“What?” Michael asked, confused. “Why the hell would I do something like that?”

“What do I know!”

"I have more important things to do before trying to play with your psyche, David!"

"It can’t be real, I must be dreaming..." He rubbed his face and slapped himself, determined to wake up. “It’s not real, it can’t be real!”

“Can you stop hitting yourself? I will gladly do it.”

"You wish," the amber-eyed man snapped.

Michael snorted. Arguing would get him nowhere, and he knew how easily his friend could fall into a nervous breakdown, so he decided to do the only thing he knew: act. In an abstract sense of the word, of course. He would do something, he would act in order to, he would move against the current… More importantly, he would get out of that stinking hotel room. It was all he wanted.

“Where are you going?” asked a confused David.

"I’ll go there," he replied, pointing at the bookshop through the window. “If this is a joke I’ll find out quickly.”

“It could be dangerous! And what if... if it’s true? What if we have been kidnapped?”

“Well, in that case we must get out of here faster!” he snapped, annoyed. “Do you have another brilliant idea?” replied, mocking. “One, single, better, idea?”

David looked at him, hating him completely. Before Michael could grasp the doorknob, the door snapped open, slamming into him. On the other side a woman apologized awkwardly, very remorseful. The Welshman’s nose began to bleed and he threw his head back. That day wasn’t getting any better. But _that_ was karma, and he knew it.

"Oh, I’m so sorry," the woman told him. “I should have guessed that would happen.”

Michael hurried to the bathroom to stop the bleeding, leaving his friend alone with the newcomer. The woman wore a dark dress with prominent sleeves, along with glasses that were too big for her face, and a small bun on her head, with the rest of her hair down. David smiled. This definitely had to be a joke.

“Adria?”

“Sorry?” the girl asked, and then extended a cordial hand to him. “Anathema Device; my pleasure.”

“Don’t screw me! You too?”

The black-haired woman frowned, annoyed by his language.

"Okay, she’d warned us that you might be unpleasant."

“She?” David repeated.

“Agnes, a distant relative of mine.”

“Oh my God!” he thought out loud. “Michael!” he screamed.

Hearing the call, he came out of the bathroom with a small paper on his nose. He looked at the woman and smiled, very amused. _Now it was good._

“She’s in this too?” he asked with a smile.

“Excuse me, gentlemen, but I did not come here to speak with you.”

“She says her distant relative Agnes warned her about us," David explained. “And now she’s going to tell us that she’s a witch who sees the future and knows that she will have a great laugh after this, right?”

"I really don’t understand what you’re talking about," the girl replied. “But yes, you’re right about something. I’ve come to give you this.”

She took a small book out of her pocket and handed it over. An old copy of the play "Hamlet" illustrated for children. A very bad editorial idea.

“Shakespeare?” asked the older one, confused.

“Inside there is a note that was to be delivered on this exact day and hour, to two men like you, in this same hotel.”

“That’s impossible!” exclaimed David. “You burned the second book!”

Anathema frowned.

“How do you know that?” She leaned back. “Are you a warlock?

“No, I’ve only seen my own series!”

Anathema adjusted her glasses and narrowed her eyes, looking at the Scotsman suspiciously.

“Are you sure you are not a warlock? I could use a hand in the occult…”

Michael rolled his eyes and took the book in his hands. He was tired of all that, but maybe if he played along, it would be over sooner. He took out a small piece of badly worn paper and looked at it. _God damn. Angels and Demons!_

“David...” he called.

“You know what, Adria? I’m fed up. Just stop, tell Neil it’s not funny.”

“Neil? Who is Neil?”

"David," Michael repeated.

“I have to return home! Georgia is going to kill me!”

“David!” Michael yelled, handing he the old note. “Look.”

The Scotsman looked at him annoyed, and then read aloud, also tired with all that. _God damn._

**Prophecy 5048:**

**When The Others step on this reality of ours, they must run, because love will be being put to the test. Save them before their sides find them.**

**Teamwork is unproductive, it is only won separately.**

**Tea time is a good sign!**

**Deliver to the bearded Welshman and the scared Scotsman, in room 666 of the Hotel Royal, on 12/29/2020.**

“Postscript: _be careful with the old woman_?” David asked.

"Oh, that was for me," Anathema replied, embarrassed. “My boyfriend drives very fast and we almost ran over a woman.”

The eldest man sat on the bed, completely stunned. This seemed too real, so much so that he was beginning to worry. He quickly searched his pockets, pulled out his cell phone, and tried to call his wife, but no one answered him. He called Neil, but he didn’t answer either. On the verge of entering a crisis, he surveyed the place, convinced that there had to be something that gave them away. It had to be some kind of set. But how on earth had they left them there? Had they been put to sleep? That would be too much, even for a joke.

"I must go," the woman told them, going to the exit. “I wish you luck. I hope the note helps you.”

“Helps us what?” David wanted to know. “It doesn’t tell us anything!”

“Yes… Agnes was not a very good fortune teller, and her handwriting leaves something to be desired. But she’s always right, even when everything points to the contrary.”

Anathema smiled at them, and then slowly approached Michael, her gaze cold.

“Those eyes...” she whispered. “You remind me of a person, a being I know," She corrected herself, but then shrugged. “Whatever. See you soon, gentlemen.”

The witch withdrew, leaving them alone again, with more questions than answers. They both sat on the bed, their heads sunk in their hands, without a clue of what to do.

David sighed and looked at his friend. Someone had to be asking about them; the whole damn internet should be worried about them. Why hadn’t anyone called yet?

“What are you doing?” asked Michael, seeing him on his phone. “I already tried but nobody answered.”

"I’m looking for us," he explained. “Twitter must have exploded.”

However, he found nothing. The internet was very calm, talking about politics and economics, and how to save the environment while still eating meat. The usual nonsense.

"Okay," David began. “Then I’ll look for this.”

He wrote "Good Omens" but nothing appeared. Not a word, not one of the thousands of interviews they had done to promote the series. Nothing. In that place there was nothing like it, nor had the book been published, nor had there been a story of an angel and a demon trying to stop Armageddon. _It couldn’t be possible._ They couldn’t have deleted all the information from the internet, right? What kind of world was that? Had his cell phone been hacked? Maybe the signal was jammed. Maybe everyone was watching them from behind a screen, laughing at them.

“What’s going on?” asked Michael.

“It doesn’t exist.”

“What are you talking about?

“Good Omens, the book, the show... it doesn’t exist.”

His partner snorted and threw himself back, bouncing on the bed. He didn’t have the patience to endure something like that. He got up, took his coat —which was mysteriously and perfectly folded on the sofa— and shot the Scotsman a glance, nodding for him to follow.

“Where are we going?” David asked as they descended the stairs.

“We’ll go to the bookshop.”

“What?” he yelled at him, grabbing his shoulder to stop him. “Have you gone mad? What will we do there? What will we do if... if Aziraphale sees us?”

The older one frowned.

“Have you hit your head?” he snapped. “There is no Aziraphale! Aziraphale is me! There is no character without an actor, David!”

“But you saw Adria! She really... seemed to _be_ Anathema.”

The Welshman didn’t bother to contradict him. Despite everything, he knew he was right. The woman had surprised him. But he refused to believe any of it. They didn’t exist, they were characters, and the show had finished shooting more than a year ago. He had long said goodbye to Aziraphale, and he had no plans to see him again anytime soon… _right?_

Determined, he crossed the street, stopped in front of the bookshop and looked up at the golden letters that he had seen so many times before. It was an exact replica of the structure they had used in the filming, and people were going back and forth, not even looking at him or David. Now _that_ was strange. They weren’t particularly famous, but they were well known. Were they all actors? It was a very high production for the joke. Too well done.

With no time to lose, he entered the bookshop, ringing the bell, and his friend came in behind him, lagging behind. The Scotsman did not want to be there. He had a bad feeling.

The place was just like how they remembered it. Books everywhere thrown on the floor, forgotten teacups and a particular smell of burning, which was hidden behind the dense humidity, characteristic of the establishment. Something that the angel used in the book to repel clients, as well as dirt, clutter and the highly changing schedule.

Clients like them.

“Hello?” Michael asked aloud. “Is someone there?” He waited a few seconds but received only silence for an answer, and his heart settled. “You see?” he said to David, turning to him. “I told you. They don’t exist. This is just a bad taste joke...”

"I already told you I don’t want to talk to you, Crowley! Stop calling me! I have clients!” He paused, clearly waiting for an answer. “What are you saying? Of course not! Goodbye!”

_Oh. My. God._

"Excuse me, gentlemen," a singsong voice told them, coming out of the kitchen with a frown, still somewhat annoyed for the recent fight. “Can I help you?”

The older man looked at David in terror. They had both turned as pale as a leaf and were shivering like dogs in the rain _. Shit, shit, shit, it couldn’t be possible._

"Please..." Michael whispered to his partner. “Tell me I’m not standing behind me.”

But the Scotsman, far from denying it, nodded, wide-eyed, as if he were seeing a ghost.

“Gentlemen?” Aziraphale repeated. “Can I help you?”

Michael spun around, his heart beating frantically in his chest. _Aziraphale was there._ He put a hand to his head, dizzy, and held onto a frozen David, who looked at him, looked at the angel, and looked at him again, completely stunned. They were like a distorted mirror. The blonde was watching them with a frown, and in his eyes the Welshman could almost read what the angel was thinking. What actually everyone was thinking. _What’s going on?_

"This is fucking crazy!" exclaimed David, coming out of his astonishment.

Aziraphale snorted annoyed.

“I would appreciate if you didn’t use that kind of expression in my shop.”

“God, he even talks like... like me! I mean, like him, like me him!” Michael said.

He approached the angel slowly, amazed at how alike and how different they were. He still remembered what he looked like with that blonde hair, but now there was nothing left of him on his head. The grey curls had replaced him, messy, wild, and natural. And those bright eyes that were his but that in turn he only achieved when he embodied Aziraphale. It really was creepy. As if a bright reflection was watching him closely, with movements that were his and at the same time not, a body that was his and at the same time did not belong to him. Simply terrifying. He felt like he was about to pass out.

"I will have to ask you to leave," Aziraphale told them subtly. “What are you doing?!”

He leaned back, avoiding the Welshman’s hand, who had reached out to touch him, wondering if he was really there. Alive.

"Go away or I’ll call the police!"

"Okay, calm down," David answered, taking his friend by the arm, pulling him away from his alternate self. "We’re leaving..." He tugged at Michael’s coat. “Let’s go.”

Under the watchful eye of the blond, both left the bookshop, and watched as the angel closed it in the middle of rush hour, with the purpose of not receiving anyone else. Especially others like them.

The Scotsman took the older man to a small cafe —another exact replica of what a cafe in the series was— and they sat there, away from the noise of the cars and the fine rain that was beginning to fall. Far from that place that seemed so familiar and unknown at the same time.

He watched his fellow for a long time, wondering if he should call a doctor. The curly man just stared at a fixed point on the horizon, completely gone. Everything was spinning, as if his thoughts had come to life and danced around him, making him dizzy, taunting him. What little sanity he had was beginning to leave him.

“Michael?” He waved a hand in front of his eyes. “Can you hear me?”

“You saw the same thing that I did, right?”

"Yes..." he sighed. “Yes, I saw it.”

“How is it humanly possible?” he asked, almost rhetorically. “I can’t be in two bodies at the same time; I mean... he doesn’t exist.”

"Well, it seemed very real,"

"This is crazy, crazy, crazy..." Michael repeated, rubbing his face with his hands. “What the hell is going on?”

David tried to call his wife, eldest son, and even his agent again, but no one answered the phone. It seemed as if they had simply forgotten. As if from one day to the next he had disappeared without a trace and nobody cared. When he put his cell phone back, he noticed the little note the witch had given them. He decided to reread it, over and over, in the hope of understanding some of it all. But it just didn’t make sense. He searched his pockets for a pen, set the prophecy aside, and began scribbling the thoughts that came to mind on a napkin. That 400-year-old sheet of paper had to have something to do with it.

“What are you doing?” asked his friend.

“Agnes is _the only prophet who has ever succeeded_ according to the logic of the book, right?” He explained “There must be something in here, I’m sure.”

"But she never existed!"

"You said the same about Aziraphale, and he is very much alive as I see him!" he snapped. “Stop denying it and help me think!”

Michael snorted in resignation. He took the prophecy and reread it, coming to the only reliable conclusion: it was complete nonsense.

"She talks about us here," David told him.

“It says _The Others_. Do you think this is some kind of joke? Like _The Them_ "?

“Maybe we are just that. We _are_ Aziraphale and Crowley but not at the same time. We are their _Others_ ".

_Good God_ , Michael thought; couldn’t this woman speak more clearly? Prophecies had always seemed the funniest thing in the book, but he didn’t like being part of them at all. It just frustrated him.

" _Save them before their sides find them_..." he read aloud. “Sides? Like Heaven and Hell?”

"I thought about that too," the Scotsman replied. “ _Love will be being put to the test_? Which love?”

"Ours," Michael stated, earning a strange look from his partner. "Not ours, dumbass! Aziraphale and Crowley! Their love is being tested, which is why they were arguing!

“All couples argue.”

"Oh, believe me, that angel is very angry," he said. “I was him, I know him. He would never yell at Crowley like that...” He was silent, thoughtful. “What could Crowley have done to upset him that much?"

“Why do you assume that I have done something?” he snapped, but quickly realized his mistake. “I mean, he. Why do you think he did something wrong?

“Well, he’s a demon. Demons don’t get along with doing the right thing.”

“Oh sure, because Aziraphale is the most innocent angel in Heaven.”

"Indeed, he is."

David rolled his eyes. Suddenly, he was back in the cuts between scenes, arguing about their characters and how they would react to different situations, and why they were in love; which they both agreed on, but that Michael defended to death. The Welshman could be very temperamental when he set his mind to it.

“ _Teamwork is unproductive, it is only won separately_...” he read, and then smiled at his friend. “You didn’t tell me you played Just Dance with this crazy woman.”

Michael laughed heartily, hating him for it. They both knew how bad he was at dancing. But at least he always beat him at board games.

"You’re just jealous that I always beat you in battleship," he lunged, and suddenly a light went on in his brain. “I got it!” he exclaimed excitedly. “Only win separately! Like in chess!”

David frowned, not understanding the analogy at all.

"You must go with Crowley and I must go with Aziraphale."

“And what are we supposed to do?” the Scotsman asked, still not understanding his idea. “Put them together as if we were some kind of cupid?”

"Exactly," he smiled. “That’s just what we’re going to do. We will save them from whatever is stalking them and we will reunite them.” Suddenly, his gaze drifted to the street in front of them, and he saw two figures, one tall and the other squat, walking towards the angel’s bookshop. They were definitely trouble. “And we’ll start right now, but first...” he said to David, with a funny and at the same time crazy look. “I need you to hit me.”

*** 

Gabriel pulled the door, and not being able to open it, tried to perform a miracle, but it didn’t work either. Some kind of magic covered the establishment and nullified its angelic essence. An evil presence, ancient and full of darkness. A small gift from an eleven-year-old boy named Adam, who had promised to put everything in its place, and had also decided to protect his friends. Even that strange angel who had tried to shoot him in the body of a woman, irrational as that sounded.

“Stupid artefact!” he yelled at the doorknob.

"Maybe there’s a back entrance," Sandalphon said.

"We have to be able to open this damn door!" The archangel shouted.

A few people looked up and watched him. It was not normal for a man not to read the "Closed" sign, and it was much less normal for him to try to force the lock.

“Open up, Aziraphale!” Gabriel yelled. “I know you are there!” knock the door. “Open in the name of the most sacred!”

"There, officer," Michael said to the police officer behind him. “Those men are trying to rob the bookshop!”

"What are you doing, gentlemen?"

"Stay away, human," Gabriel snapped, annoyed. “You have nothing to do here.”

"Chief..." whispered Sandalphon, who knew about the terms _police_ and _jail_. “I don’t think it’s prudent...”

“Sorry?” the officer interrupted them. “You can’t talk to a law enforcement officer that way.”

“Law?” the archangel scoffed. “The only law I obey is God’s law!”

"Take him out of here," Michael asked for. “It’s dangerous; he even hit me when I tried to stop him!” He said, pointing to his nose, much more bloody than before.

“That is not true, stupid human!” Gabriel snapped, moving closer to him.

The officer quickly turned him around in one motion and handcuffed him.

"Well, that remains to be seen," he said, taking it away.

Sandalphon followed his boss with a hurried pace, trying to silence him. He had no idea how they would explain to Heaven what had happened; Up there they had no idea that they had gone looking for Aziraphale, and they were disobeying the orders of God, who had been very specific in leaving the angel alone. However, if he was sure of one thing, it was that everything would be much worse if the archangel was locked up in jail or a madhouse. He would spend eternity scrubbing floors that were already clean.

"Well," David began, amused. “That went well.”

“Speak for yourself!” his friend answered, still with his hand pressing on his septum. “I told you to hit me, not to break my nose! Didn’t you hear me?”

“I always hear _hit me in the face_ when you speak, but it is usually between the lines.”

Michael smiled despite the pain. He loved being able to understand that reference.

“Okay, let’s get on with the plan.”

“Will you stay here waiting?” asked the Scotsman. “He can open at any time!”

"That’s why I’ll keep waiting," he replied. "You go find Crowley and I’ll talk to Aziraphale. But remember: no sudden movements or insinuations that we are from another dimension” he clarified. “We don’t want to scare them”

“They are a damn devil and a fucking angel; I don’t think they’re scared! Besides, we don’t know if we come from another dimension.”

“Just go!” Michael snapped.

David spun on his heels and started down the street, guided by some strange force that we might call instinct. Michael, on the other hand, sat on the front step of the bookshop and held his nose tightly, waiting for the second bleeding to stop.

If they got out of there alive and he went home, he would call his trusted surgeon.

***

It was not difficult for David to find the apartment. Although Crowley’s house was right behind the bookshop on set, in real life it was several streets away, quite a few.

Now he understood why the demon was only riding in his Bentley.

What he _didn’t_ understand was how he knew where to go, he just knew. As if he walked that way every day of his life. As if it was the usual route to get home. Although he thought tenderly that somehow, it was, or had been. In another life.

"Okay..." he started when he saw the car parked outside. “Hi, I’m David; are you having problems with your angel?” He shook his head. “No, my God, that was terrible.”

He started to get nervous and out of nowhere he was spelling words backwards. _Hell!_ He hated it when he did that. He didn’t know how he could get close to Crowley, it wouldn’t be simple. He was not a demon that was easy to talk to, if there was one who was. As a rule, demons were not friendly, and he knew his counterpart was no exception. What could he say to get his attention? Preferably something that wouldn’t make the entity close the door in his face, or worse, make him disappear suspiciously.

What was something that mattered a lot to the demon and would guarantee him a way into his house?

He stood out there thinking, when suddenly an idea came to his mind. It was silly, but maybe it would work... and besides, it was all he had.

He ran into a store, bought a couple of garden supplies, a hat, and knocked on the door, determined. That would work, it had to. He was almost certain, calm, hopeful. Although, nothing prepared him for when the demon opened the door.

That was completely terrifying.

“What?” Crowley asked reluctantly.

“Hello sir. I’m a supervisor for the Association of Gardeners Against Plant Abuse,” he explained, quickly flashing his actor community membership card. “We have received complaints of annoying yelling at your crops. Can I have a look?”

The yellow eyes watched him, wide and surprised.

"I don’t have time for this," the demon exclaimed as he closed the door.

"Excuse me, Sir," David said, stopping him. “I’m afraid that if you don’t let me check, I’ll have to call the authorities and confiscate your plants.”

“Is this a joke?!”

“We are very strict with complaints, Sir.”

Crowley hesitated for almost a minute, but then let it go with a grunt. He didn’t want humans snooping through his things, and for nothing in the world would he allow his plants to be taken away. Maybe they would be treated well and told cute things following that friendly cultivation ideology, _yuck! Of course not._

Once inside, David gazed at the place in wonder, as if it were the first time he had seen it. It was much larger than he remembered, and it had a grim three-dimensionality.

That is to say, of course it had. It was real; it was an apartment like any other, with real walls and no simple filming structure. Even the decorations stood out, and there were items that he hadn’t had in the show’s props. Items that only appeared in the book, and a few others, that the demon must have added by himself. Although in reality, everything was his and it was there because he wanted it.

 _For the last time, David_ , he told himself, _it’s_ _real._

_Crowley is real and he’s standing behind you._

“Well?” asked the redhead.

"Oh, yes," said the man, heading to where he knew the plants were. “Tell me, do you have a maintenance certificate?”

“A certi... what? They’re plants, not a bloody child.” He looked at him, confused. “How the hell did you know where I had them?”

_Shit._

It was supposed to be the first time he had been in there and he was walking around like it was his home. He had to be more careful with the information he showed he knew.

"Well..." he thought quickly. “It’s obvious, Sir. If you take care of them as fine as you say, you will have them where there is light and this beautiful skylight in the ceiling lights up the place very well.”

The demon nodded, not caring too much, and David smiled inside, very pleased with himself. Not for nothing had he improvised all those scenes in Doctor Who. He still had the touch.

“How long will this take?” asked the demon, annoyed. “I have things to do.”

The Scotsman knew he was lying. The redhead was wearing casual clothes and was dishevelled and sleepy. He had surely just woken up. If Crowley was in a quarrel with the angel, he would do nothing but commiserate and sleep, just as he did when he argued with his wife. He was surprised by it. He had never noticed how much they had in common.

"I’m afraid I register a high degree of fear and lack of watering," said David, gently touching a leaf. “I’ll have to talk to them.”

“That’s impossible! I water them almost daily!”

"Then too much watering," he corrected himself. “Yes! Too much water!”

The demon snorted. He was beginning to get impatient, and David knew that was not good.

“I’ll have a little therapy session. You can stay if you want.”

“You will do therapy with my plants? That’s absurd! Plants don’t speak.”

"No, but they do feel..." he clarified. “We study their responses to certain stimuli. I have a PhD in plant psychology.” _Okay, that might have been too much._ “Do you talk to them?” he asked quickly, to distract him from his lie.

“Of course I talk to them.”

“With gentleness and affection?”

"Most of the time..." the redhead lied as well.

“Okay then; let’s get started.”

David approached the stalks, touched them slowly and could actually feel a vibration coming from them, which made him recoil, scared. They were alive, very alive. Neil would be in awe. He had thought for days how to show a scared plant on the screen.

“Any problem?” asked the demon.

"No, nothing," he smiled nervously.

Crowley crossed his arms, in that typical _I’ll kill you if I find out this is a lie_ stance. It could not be anything else, because without a doubt he would. If the redhead found out, he was dead. And suddenly he went blank, realizing that he was alone and helpless with a curmudgeonly demon that with a simple snap could make him appear in the desert.

And the worst part is that he had gone, completely. With no idea of what to do. How would he get Crowley to open up to him? It seemed impossible.

He was hoping Michael was doing better...

***

He left the bakery with a tray of cupcakes in one hand and a damp cloth that one of the employees had so kindly handed him in the other, followed by a suggestion that he should urgently see a doctor. And yes, he had to; but first he had to wait for a silly angel who had a terrible concept of what having a bookshop meant. He sat back on the step and looked up. The clouds were beginning to darken and cover the sky, that’s when he knew that the day was going to get _even_ better. When the first drop touched his hair, he hated himself for not bringing his red hooded coat. It would look really wild when the humidity took effect.

After several minutes, already quite wet, he noticed that the blinds of the place began to rise. _Of course!_ It was raining. It was the ideal climate for Aziraphale to open, hoping not to receive any clients. He was a fucking smart blonde.

Michael walked into the bookshop with the package in his hands and his head bowed, hoping not to be recognized immediately. But it failed almost instantly. The angel was really surprised and annoyed to hear the doorbell.

“You again?!” he asked with a frown. “Can’t you see the rain outside?!”

“Oh yeah, I did.”

“What are you doing here?” he faced him. "Let me tell you, Sir, that I will not bear your nonsense again. Today was a difficult day; the police told me that someone tried to rob me and I...” He looked at him carefully. “What happened to your nose?”

Michael sighed, resigned, and quickly put a hand to his face in pain. He didn’t even feel like talking about it anymore, but suddenly a brilliant idea popped into his mind.

Aziraphale could not refuse. Not if he caused him the necessary pity.

"I was the one who told the police," the Welshman told him, trying to sound sweet. “When we were leaving, we noticed those two men trying to force their way in and we called an officer. One of the guys even hit me for it!” he lied to him, feeling a bit guilty about that part.

"Oh, oh, I’m very sorry," the angel said, approaching him. “How are you now?”

"Not very well..." he concluded, almost pouting. “But anyway, I wanted to come to apologize for my attitude today. I had a little… crisis, so to speak,” he explained with a puppyish grin. “It hasn’t been a great day for me either.”

Aziraphale raised both eyebrows and pursed his lips. That human was a poor person who had had a hard time and had even defended his shop after he kicked him out. And as if that weren’t enough, he had come to apologize! There were few such people left on earth. How could he be mad at him?

"I brought cupcakes," Michael said, picking up the package with a smile.

The blonde sighed, pleased. He definitely liked that man.

“Well, we should accompany them with a good cup of tea, don’t you think?”

Michael nodded and smiled. His evil plan had been a success! Now he just had to get a six thousand year old angel to tell him about the demon he had as a platonic love so that he could help them to be together and thus return to their normal life in another dimension.

It sure would be a piece of cake.

“Does it hurt?” Aziraphale asked him, and the man nodded. “Don’t worry; surely you don’t have any broken bones.”

The Welshman felt a little cracking in his nose and then a great relief. He knew that the angel had said those words as a fact, not a wish, and he appreciated it. Now it didn’t hurt so much anymore. The blonde smiled at him.

“Sugar?”

“No. I like to taste the tea.”

“Oh! That’s exactly what I say!” Aziraphale exclaimed.

Michael watched him in wonder. _Who’d have guessed?_

“And tell me...”

“Aziraphale, and you?”

"Michael," he replied. “And tell me, Aziraphale, what wonders do you have in this place?”

“Oh, nothing really. Some old books that are not interesting. I’d bore you if I told you.”

"It’s okay, you can tell me," he prompted. “I swear I won’t buy anything.”

The angel’s face lit up.

“Really?”

"I promise," he conceded. “I would also be angry if someone tried to take one of my books from my library. I mean, I know this is a store.” He lied. “But even a good salesman knows what to keep, right?”

The blond nodded energetically and stood up, determined to show him all the splendid books he had collected over the years. For some reason that human seemed trustworthy, as if he knew him. Like an old friend he hasn’t seen in years...

Michael smiled nervously at him and began to think about how he would divert his conversation from the books to the devil.

He hoped David was doing as well as he was.

***

Unfortunately, things were going badly in the apartment.

"Okay, yes," agreed the Scotsman, as he acted that the plants were saying something in his ear. "Sure, I’ll tell him." He turned to look at the redhead behind him. “Their mistreatment is very evident.”

"Damn you wretches!" the demon yelled at them. “I spend days taking care of you all! And this is how you thank me?!”

The little green stalks began to tremble, and David swallowed hard. Maybe he was prodding too much.

"Take it easy, Sir. You won’t get anything by talking to them like that. Why don’t you lie down?”

He pointed to a long sofa in the next room and the demon reluctantly sat down. He settled on the other end, his head full of thoughts, trying to figure out what to do next.

He was supposed to be a plant psychologist. If he wanted the redhead to believe in him, he should play his role well.

"Okay, we’ll do the following," he began. “We will talk about you.”

The demon glared at him.

“No.”

“You must cooperate Sir...”

"Anthony." the demon sighed.

"Anthony," he smiled nervously. “It will be beneficial for them if you cooperate with me in therapy. Many times, the stress of the gardener negatively influences the plants.”

“I’m not stressed!”

"I didn’t mean that," he apologized. "But maybe you’re angry about something...” He should be careful. He didn’t know how far he could search. “I’m a professional, Mr Anthony; you can talk to me. Nothing you say will come out of here.”

Crowley stared at him in silence for almost a full minute. There was something about that skinny human that he didn’t find so obnoxious. Even, with a lot of effort, he might seem smart. It had been so long since he spoke to someone that he didn’t know how to start. The only one he spoke to was Aziraphale, but now the angel was no longer taking his calls, and would send him to hell if he showed up at the bookshop.

Could he do it? He had heard that people did that when they had no choice or wanted help: they talked to each other; they told each other about their lives. But would it help? Could he bore a human with the problems that he carried for six thousand years? That would certainly be torture, right? It would be a true demonic act... He was beginning to like the idea.

“How much time do we have?”

"Whatever it takes," David answered.

"Then we’ll stay here for a while," the demon spat, leaning back on the sofa. “Do you know anything about the Garden of Eden?”

***

"It’s wonderful," said a disheartened Michael.

The blonde next to him talked about all the places he had studied, or rather, known, although he _clearly didn’t know that_ ; and Aziraphale showed him photographs, maps, poems... beautiful memories, but too many. He was getting bored with the endless amount of books and cups of tea that came and went, and he wondered if it would ever end. How could he end that torture? As much as he loved the idea of being there with the angel —it seemed frighteningly exciting and far-fetched— he had a mission to accomplish.

“What about this one?” Michael asked innocently, picking up a green book with gold letters that he knew perfectly well. “What is it about?”

"Oh, nothing." Aziraphale took it from his hands. “It’s a book of silly prophecies.”

The principality looked at the yellowed pages and caressed them gently. Anathema had given it to him after burning the second volume —which she had not revealed to the angel— and had entrusted it to him in the hope that he would enjoy it, to avoid falling into the temptation of being a descendant again. The blond man took good care of him, and he also read it from time to time, marvelling at the certainty with which it spoke about the past years, and also full of nostalgia… he remembered when he’d found it, in the Bentley, with Crowley; just days before stopping the apocalypse, by his side…

“Aziraphale?” The bearded man called. “Are you here?”

"Yes, I’m sorry," he answered, coming to his senses. “Excuse me, I remembered something.”

“Something bad?”

“Oh, no. Not at all.”

"Excuse me for intruding, but you don’t seem very good at lying..." He smiled at him. “Want to talk about something? I might help.”

"Don’t you worry, I’m fine," he lied again, but hesitated under the Welshman’s gaze. “What could I tell you?”

“I don’t know, is it a friendship problem?” he asked, determined to gnaw. “Or love?”

The angel looked up at him and then quickly lowered his head. It was incredible to Michael how transparent he was, and it distressed him to see himself in those eyes. They were very alike in many ways; they couldn’t help it. They couldn’t hide.

"I have a... friend," Aziraphale began. “And we argued, that’s all.”

“A friend? Like… a good friend?”

"He’s just a friend," he clarified. “An old friend. We have known each other practically our entire lives.”

"I know exactly how that is," he told him, partially lying, partially telling the truth. “It’s difficult when that happens. May I ask you why you have argued?”

The blonde looked him in the eye for a moment and frowned sadly. He obviously didn’t want to talk about it, but a part of him wanted it badly. Michael decided that he had to do something to help him. He knew exactly how he felt, because he knew him better than anyone. If he pressed a little more, he would end up opening up to him, he knew it.

"Listen, I know we don’t know each other," the Welshman said gently. “But I know I can help you.”

“How do you know that?”

The man sighed.

"Because you remind me of me..." he answered simply. “I understand your fear, really; and I know how scary it can be to trust someone. But if you trust me, I promise to listen to you in silence,” he assured him. “Consider me a shoulder to cry on.”

The angel watched him for a few seconds, and then brought his hands together, gently massaging them. He was excited to be able to talk to someone, and maybe if he said it all the guilt would leave him. Perhaps he could answer the question that was spinning in his head; decide if having driven the demon away had been the right decision or if he had exaggerated. Maybe he could. Humans were very smart when they put their mind to it.

"Well..." he started nervously. “I ... I really don’t know where to start.”

“From the beginning.” Michael said with a smile.

"Okay..." he agreed, and then looked at him impatiently. “Do you know the story of Adam and Eve?”

Michael nodded, using all his willpower not to roll his eyes.

It would be a long afternoon.

***

“And then he said _you go too fast for me, Crowley_ "

“No!”

“Yes!” the demon replied. "I thought it was ridiculous!"

"Without a doubt," David replied. “After you saved him from the Bastille and from that church…”

“I know! Right?” He finished his drink with one last gulp. Not that he was telling him all that because of the alcohol. He could simply erase that human’s memory whenever he wanted. Although he wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to. At least, he didn’t find him hateful.

“But there’s something I don’t understand; are you yelling at your plants for something that happened in the sixties?” David asked, with some mockery. "Or did something else happen now?"

The demon poured himself another glass of wine, and then looked at the ground. His yellow eyes looked tired behind his glasses, and the man knew he was about to get there.

"I did something a little stupid a few weeks ago and Aziraphale got mad at me," he confessed.

_Great_ , the Scotsman thought. He hated when Michael was right. He could almost hear him. “ _I told you so…”_

“How stupid?” he asked hopefully. “Sometimes I also do stupid things, but my wife usually forgives me.”

“Aziraphale has spent decades without speaking to me, but now he is truly angry. I’ve screwed up big time this time."

David wanted to put a hand on his shoulder, but he decided it was a bad idea. Instead, he sighed, and wondered what he would say to his oldest son. It couldn’t be that different.

“Well, if he really loves you, I don’t think there’s anything so bad that you can do that..."

"I killed an innocent man," the demon spat, cutting him off. “I could have done something, but I didn’t, and he died for my cowardice. It was my fault.”

David was speechless.

That would be very different.

***

"And then we changed bodies again and went to dinner at the Ritz..." finished Aziraphale with a small smile. “It was very charming.”

Michael tried to keep the tears from escaping his eyes, but he couldn’t. Although he knew the story almost by heart, it was wonderful to hear it from his true protagonist. The real one. It was completely moving.

“And did you keep seeing each other after that?”

"Yes, quite often, I have to confess," said the angel. “But I’m afraid not anymore. A few weeks ago... an accident happened” he explained, not knowing how to tell him. “A real tragedy.”

"And does Crowley have something to do with it?"

The blond nodded and the Welshman refrained from smiling. Although it saddened him, he loved being right.

"Tell me," he asked for.

Aziraphale hesitated for a second. Would it really help him?

“A few weeks ago he... made a mistake. A terrible mistake that cost a man’s life.”

Suddenly, the bookshop felt cold, deprived of all entire welcoming aura.

That tragedy really squeezed his heart.

"He discovered a demon tempting a human," he continued. “It’s not very strange actually. They are everywhere, just like us,” he explained, with a slight smile. “They tell people to do horrible things, put ideas in their heads, terrible ideas... and Crowley saw him. He knew something was going to happen, but he just walked away. He walked in the opposite direction, and suddenly he heard a gunshot” he speaks already with wet eyes. “The man had murdered another, and the demon behind him was laughing...”

"He was laughing behind me," the redhead continued, from an apartment miles away. “And everything stopped. The man kept shooting, unhinged, and I didn’t do anything. He was screaming madly that the other had murdered his little girl, and I just understood. I really did...” he confessed. “But he kept shooting, and a boy had the bad luck to pass on his bicycle...”

"And he fell to the ground with a bullet in his chest," Aziraphale concluded. "It wasn’t his fault," he said crying, looking Michael in the eyes. “He was too young; I even visited his family. They are shattered.”

"I don’t know why I did it," the redhead said to an astonished David. “When I saw that demon I just wanted to get out of there. We are safe, you know? Aziraphale and I…” He sighed. “I think that’s why I did it. I did not mean to meddle in the affairs of Hell. I don’t want to have anything to do with them anymore.”

"He explained to me that he did it for us, but I know he did it for him," the angel stressed. “It’s his nature. I don’t know what I expected!” He exclaimed, hurt. “He’s a demon after all.”

"I know I could have done something, even went over to check it out, hoping to save him with a miracle," Crowley confessed. “But a woman knelt beside him and began to pray with a rosary, and it burned me; and the demon saw me, I’m sure he saw me. So I ran away. I ran away like a coward,” he said hatefully. “I got out of there and ran to tell Aziraphale, to warn him that they would surely come after us!” exclaimed desperately. “It’s not safe anymore! If they discover that they can still destroy us, they will never leave us alone...”

“And what did he tell you?” asked the Scotsman.

"I told him I wasn’t interested," the angel replied, to the same question, but which in turn had come from Michael’s mouth. “That he could keep his apologies to himself! His cowardice murdered a boy. He should have done something! We are not that important. We don’t have families to mourn us...” he told with his heart in his throat. “We are immortal, and that boy was ephemeral.”

"It was an accident," Michael tried to tell him.

The angel denied.

"I can understand it from that demon, but not from Crowley," the angel replied. “He is not like that. He should have done something.”

“Why?” the bearded man rebuked him. "Wasn’t it you who said that that was his nature? Why do you expect anything from him if you keep saying that he is hopeless?”

"I..." the blond began.

"You can’t ask him to be a way he’s not," Michael said. "If he does something good, you emphasize that that is not his place, and when he does something bad you judge him harshly," he scolded. “What do you want him to do?”

Aziraphale watched him nervously.

Deep inside him he knew the human was right. He had noticed that the demon was sorry, and instead of helping him he had accused him.

"I am not very religious, but I have always liked that phrase that Jesus said to his people when they wanted to punish a woman for adultery," the Welshman commented. “Whoever is free of sin...”

"Cast the first stone," said the angel, understanding what he was referring to. "Oh my God, I’ve been a fool... I’ve abandoned him when he needed me the most."

“You shouldn’t think about that now. Actually, you should stop thinking at all,” he advised. “Many of your problems come because you think things too much. You worry excessively, and create ridiculous scenes in your mind.”

The blonde frowned, surprised. That human really knew him very well.

“What do you advise me to do?”

"Take action," said Michael, determined. “Ask yourself what you want and act on it. Fight for what you want, Aziraphale...” he said sweetly. “It’s your life. No one will live it for you.”

The angel opened his eyes as if a revelation had passed through him, and then gently took the human’s hands. Unable to find the words, he stared at him, silently thanking him. They both knew what it meant.

Suddenly, Michael’s cell phone vibrated, cutting off the moment, but he answered it immediately when he saw his friend’s name on the screen.

He had good news for sure.

“How’s everything going there?” he asked, smiling.

“You must come here quickly!” David said, in a whisper. “Come both!”

“What?” He held the phone to his ear to hear well. There seemed to be screaming from the other side. “What’s going on?”

“They’re here! They found him! They...”

The call was cut off.

The Welshman looked at the angel with fear and found that he was looking at him very confused; but he needed him. It was time to tell the truth.

"I can’t explain it to you now, but we must get to Crowley’s apartment," he said almost desperately.

“Crowley?” he asked fearfully. “Why? What happened?” He took a few steps away. “Who are you? Did you... come from above?”

“No! Of course not! I’m a friend. You must believe me, please, I’ll explain, but not now. We can’t waste time,” he asked for. “If you want to help him, we must appear there!”

Aziraphale eyed him fearfully, but then nodded. He turned his hand quickly, and the last thing Michael saw before he fell was the bookshop fading before him, and everything spinning around him.

In less than a second, they were gone.

***

**Crowley’s Apartment - 10 minutes before.**

David sighed.

"Accidents happen," he said to the redhead in front of him. “It wasn´t your fault.”

"Yes, it was," he assured. “It’s in my nature. I didn’t help him because I am a demon, and demons don’t help people.”

“But you tried; you told me yourself! You tried to help him.”

"I fled," he corrected. “I fled like a coward.”

“You wanted to protect Aziraphale. You wanted to protect both of you.”

"No, he’s right..." he said slowly, referring to the angel. “I just wanted to protect myself. I’m a fucking selfish demon. He does well in hating me.”

“Stop punishing yourself!” exclaimed the Scotsman, annoyed. “We both know that you are more than that. You can’t lie to me, I know you,” he assured. “It doesn’t matter how, but I know you. I know you still feel that little angelic essence inside of you, and I know you think you’re better than this.” He smiled at him. “Aziraphale is not perfect, and you are not the evil being that you pretend to be.”

The demon watched him for a long minute, and then he chuckled small and wryly. He didn’t understand how a stupid human could understand him. He had always believed that part of being immortal was suffering loneliness, and that was why he had grown close to the angel over the years, before falling completely in love with him. At first, he just hated feeling lonely and misunderstood. He had always hated it, and he loved not feeling it now. That stranger was a great balm, in some strange way. Like his own reflection. Like his other self; the one who still had hope.

“What should I do then?”

“You must let it be, and you must accept yourself. You can’t run after him all the time. Let him come to you too,” he advised. “And please improve your posture. I see you walking and it gives me back pain.”

The redhead laughed heartily.

He liked this human being. He hadn’t thought they still had a sense of humour.

"Maybe I’ll listen to you..." he said, pouring himself another glass of wine.

David smiled. Coming from the hard-headed Crowley, that was the most he could hope for, and at the same time it was complete flattery. He was going to take it into account. It almost seemed like a miracle.

He was about to have another drink when suddenly a gust of wind pushed them knocking them back. The door was slammed open, and two voices shouted the demon’s name loudly, seeking him in anger. The redhead snapped his fingers and David appeared in the bathroom. Completely confused, he wanted to investigate, but stopped when he heard the names of the newcomers.

They were there, they had been discovered.

“Hastur!” Crowley said, with feigned happiness. “What can I do for you?”

The Duke turned his wrist and the redhead fell to the ground immobilized. He didn’t want to play anymore. This time he would make sure to finish what he had started.

The Scotsman took his phone and dialled the number in a nervous breakdown.

_“You must come here quickly! “He_ whispered. _“Come both!”_

Hastur stopped immediately what he was doing and listened. He was sure there was another presence there.

“Is there a human here?” he yelled at Crowley.

_“What?”_ Michael answered from the other side. _"What’s going on?"_

_“They’re here! They found him!”_ he tried to explain, desperate _“They...”_

The Duke of Hell opened the door and yanked him out, cutting off the communication. With a snap he lifted him up and dragged him toward the red-haired demon, who was gagged under his flowerpots. Plants trembled above him, frightened.

“Making new friends?” He asked with a smile.

“He has nothing to do with me. Leave him alone.”

"He looks so scared," said Dagon, the Lord of the Archives. "What shall we do with him?"

"Kill him," Hastur replied, shrugging. “But first, we’ll get rid of our partner here."

The Duke approached the helpless demon and glared at him. He still remembered the way he had dissolved Ligur. No mercy, not even for him, not even being one of them.

He had sworn Crowley would pay for it, and now he was there, in front of him, with a human as his only defence. It was time. He would take revenge.

“Did you think we wouldn’t notice? That beautiful rosary burning your skin...” he laughed at him “Any last words?” he asked the redhead, about to close his hand completely, enjoying the pain it caused him.

David thought of his children and how much he would miss them. In his wife, in his friends, in Michael. On that Welsh fool who had become his best friend in such a short time.

Crowley smiled. He knew the human next to him was scared, but he had nothing to lose.

Furthermore, no one seemed to have noticed that his plants had stopped shaking, nor that they were now lifting their stems, like a dog that raises its tail when it happily greets visitors. They loved to see him again.

“Well?” Hastur asked.

“You know? I think Warlock was right.” Crowley wrinkled his nose. "You smell like poo," he taunted him. “Maybe you should take a bath.”

The Duke grunted.

"I will bathe in your blood when you die!"

“Hey! Ugly face!” a very animated Michael called from behind. “What do you think if you better bathe with water?” He pointed a spray bottle at it and smiled.

Hastur frowned and raised his hands as if it were a weapon, because indeed, it was. Dagon disappeared immediately leaving him alone and the Duke knelt in fear.

“Mercy!”

“Why should we have mercy on you?” Aziraphale asked. "You would kill us in our place!"

The Welsh opened his eyes, surprised at the fury with which the angel spoke. He really seemed capable of anything.

"Dear God! Crowley!” he approached him immediately. “Are you okay?”

The redhead tried to answer him but he couldn’t. The Duke’s fist was still taut, immobilizing him. Burning it slowly inside. Then, the blonde snapped his fingers, taking the spray from Michael, now holding it in his hands. He would do whatever it takes.

“Release him!” he ordered Hastur.

"If I die, he comes with me," he smiled. “You can’t be saved, not this time.”

"Release him, you damn demon!" the angel approached him, pointing him steadily. “Do it!”

The Duke kept smiling determined to ignore him.

Suddenly, the lights in the room flickered, and the two humans recoiled from an Aziraphale that was beginning to glow, fury in its eyes. With another miracle, a small cross appeared in his hands, and he approached Hastur, who was now completely immobilized just like the redhead. If he couldn’t kill him, he would make him suffer.

He would rip every cry of pain he could from his throat.

“Release him!” He placed the cross on the demon’s forehead, watching his skin burn under the holy object.

Michael wanted to stop him, but David took him by the arm. They should not interfere. They had done enough.

"Angel, stop!” exclaimed Crowley. “Stop, you... you’re not like this.”

The blonde pressed the cross even more against the haggard skin; oblivious to the screams of pain from the Duke of Hell.

“You would do this for me!” he answered to the redhead.

However, despite wanting to do so, the angel began to tremble, terrified of what that would mean. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t kill; just couldn’t. He would hate himself for the rest of his life.

Michael noticed that and ran towards him, ignoring his friend’s warnings. He couldn’t let him do it. He knew Aziraphale would never forgive himself.

In one swift movement he removed the cross from his hands, and then the angel leaned back, horrified.

Suddenly, Hastur’s laugh hit him.

“Useless!” he scoffed, still feeling indescribable pain. “You won’t be able to save him! Your essence is weak! You can’t even perform simple torture!”

"Not him, but I do," the Welshman replied. “Want to see me try?”

The Duke stared at him, and for the first time since Ligur’s death, he was afraid. Something in the human’s eyes told him that he was telling the truth. He would have no mercy. Humans weren’t angels, and Hastur knew it.

"Let him go or I swear I’ll shower you with this," Michael told him, taking the spray bottle off the floor again. "It will be like a beautiful summer drizzle, only that you will die." He smiled sweetly at him. “What do you say?”

When the Duke snorted, Crowley fell to the ground, released from the invisible restraints that held him. Aziraphale quickly helped him up.

David approached the dark-eyed demon.

"Perhaps you should go," he advised Hastur. “He’s not very nice when he gets mad.”

Michael frowned. He was Welsh. He was always nice. Most of the time. Except _occasionally_ on twitter.

The demon glared at them with hatred, roared in anger and disappeared. He would come back, no question, but he wouldn’t bother them for a while. Those wounds on his face would take years to heal.

Grinning from ear to ear, David went to his friend, started laughing, and hugged him.

_Oh my God! That had been great!_

Michael, also very happy, parted from him, but put a finger to his lips, signalling him to be quiet. Across the room, an angel and a demon hugged each other just like them, but with completely different feelings. They hugged each other desperately.

"Oh dear..." Aziraphale said, holding the redhead’s face in his hands. “I’m so sorry. How do you feel? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Angel...”

“Forgive me, please forgive me. I’ve been a fool. I have punished you for an accident and I have not been there for you.” He wailed. “I don’t know what I would do without you; if they had destroyed you...”

"Angel," Crowley interrupted, holding him by the shoulders. "I’m fine," he repeated. “We are fine. We are here. We’re alive.” He smiled at him. “We are alive...”

Aziraphale smiled back at him, and then pulled him closer, kissing him gently.

The demon raised his eyebrows in surprise, but accepted it, and they began to kiss slowly, enjoying it. Clinging to each other and to the life they had yet to live.

“Are you seeing that?” David asked in amazement, turning to a strangely speechless Michael. “Are you crying?!”

"Of course I am," replied the Welshman proudly.

In front of them, the angel and the demon continued to kiss, too in love. Too focused on each other to notice the presence of the two humans.

David coughed uncomfortably.

"Oh, I’m so sorry" Aziraphale apologized, pulling away from his partner. "Darling, let me introduce you to Michael" he said to Crowley, with his cheeks flushed.

The demon looked at the Welsh and growled.

"It’s his way of telling us that we’re ruining the moment," David whispered to his side.

However, Michael smiled from ear to ear, pleased.

"So, how will this continue?" He asked them. "Are you going to live in that South Downs Cottage?"

The angel’s face turned the same colour as apples, and the demon felt dizzy.

"I think we better get going before you get too excited," David said to him, putting a hand on his friend’s back, trying to lead him to the exit.

"Hey..." Crowley began, "Thanks" he said to the Scotsman "I have no idea what happened, but... you were helpful."

"Oh" David smiled "It was nothing"

"Thank you too" Aziraphale said to Michael, looking at him with bright eyes "I will take your words and act on them. I promise"

"I hope so," replied the bearded man. “Six thousand years is enough, you know. You have waited too long. "

A beautiful silence formed around them, closing the night perfectly.

Until the Welshman spoke again, unable to contain himself.

"Well, in case you ever think about having children, let me tell you that Michael is a beautiful name. I have a funny story about this, you know? Turns out my ancestors had this mysterious desire for having a son named Michael, and then a nurse mixed up my names at the hospital..."

"That’s it, we’re leaving" exclaimed his friend, tugging at his coat.

"But think about it! It is a great responsibility! David knows about that! He has like twenty kids! "

"See you soon!" screamed the Scotsman, fleeing from there, leaving a very confused angel and demon behind him.

Michael laughed, pleased with himself for embarrassing him.

"See you! Ta-ra!"

Aziraphale smiled.

Those men were weird but he liked them somehow.

A big silence formed when they left, until Crowley spoke again, confused.

“Did he say tada?” The demon asked. “Like at the end of a magic trick?”

***

Outside a light drizzle was falling, but the friends didn’t care. They walked aimlessly through the streets, stopping to buy some warm drink. It had been a long day, and all they wanted was to get home, shower, and sleep for a decade. There was only a small interdimensional problem that prevented them, of course. But that was a minor detail.

“And now what?” David asked. “Do we have to plan their wedding?”

His partner’s face lit up.

“Don’t you even think about it!” answered the Scotsman.

"Excuse me gentlemen, here are your orders" said a sweet voice beside him, setting two cups of black tea on the table.

"Thank you," David replied, ignoring her. "Seriously, what are we supposed to do?" he asked his friend.

"Wasn’t that the voice of...?” Michael asked, turning to look for the waitress, and looking at the cups on the table "When did we order this?"

"Maybe she was wrong" said the Scotsman, and then returned to his concern "How are we going to get out of here?"

"I don’t know..." Michael answered wearily, looking at him again, with a feigned tone of voice "It’s not that I don’t enjoy your company, but I’d love to stop seeing your ugly face."

“Stuck-up.”

"I may be a stuck-up, but a stuck-up that was right." He smirked.

David pointed a finger at it.

“Don’t you dare!”

“I...”

“No!”

“Told...

"Damn Welsh!"

“You…”

“Stop!”

“So!”

The younger pushed him with a smile and the bearded man laughed.

He loved being right.

They both raised their cups to their lips and drank a little, thinking of all possible solutions, although none of them seemed to be the right one.

After a while, they began to feel dizzy, and for some strange reason also observed.

“Francis!” Michael exclaimed, putting the cup on the table.

"What?"

"It was her voice!"

"Was... your voice... the voice of God?" David asked, increasingly dizzy.

"No, not my voice..."

"You have a... horrible voice."

"You have a horrible nose."

"I hate you."

"Thank you."

And then they both fell onto the table, unconscious. And the waitress behind them smiled. Her job was done.

***

The first thing he did when he woke up was to take a deep breath and put a hand to his chest. The feeling of well-being was still there, but his heart was beating frantically. Beside him, on the other end of the bed, his wife was sleeping peacefully. _Thank God..._

He couldn’t bear waking up with him again.

Unable to go back to sleep, he decided to get up and make a nice cup of tea. Outside the night seemed unreal, completely clear, dark and beautiful. And he knew it. Something was wrong.

That couldn’t have been a dream. It had felt real, too real. How could a dream feel like that? He could still remember everything that happened and even if he closed his eyes, he could still see the bookshop in front of him, and the lovely angel, telling him about the writings of five hundred years ago. _It couldn’t have been a dream._ And suddenly, his cell phone began to vibrate, with a name on the screen that made him smile.  
_I knew it._

"Tell me I’m not crazy!" David whispered from the other side.

“Parallel dimension? Aziraphale and Crowley? Hastur?”

“Oh my God!”

“I know!”

They both screamed silently, filled with emotion.

It was complete madness!

“How will we explain this?”

“We won’t!” Michael answered. “Are you insane? They would lock us up in a madhouse!”

"We must tell someone!"

A small silence ensued between them, and in less than a second they knew they were thinking the same thing.

“Will you call him?”

“You better do it.”

“Let’s both do it.”

“Agreed.”

“Agreed.”

***

The man wrote down the last point and stretched. His body felt completely numb. He had been writing this extremely long chapter for a long time, and all he wanted to do was sleep. But he couldn’t. When the idea had come to his head, he had had to take his notebooks and write it down in its entirety, each letter of each word until the final outcome. It was the pleasure and suffering of every writer.

Suddenly, when he had decided to turn off the light in his office, his phone began to ring. It was exactly 3:15 am. What the heck was wrong with those people?

“Hi Neil!” yelled David and Michael at the same time.

"Hi boys..." he greeted, already a little sleepy. “Something bad happened?”

“No! Not at all!” the Welshman clarified. “We just wanted to tell you a curious dream we had...”

"A terrifying and curious dream," David corrected him. “It was really disturbing.”

"Yes, disturbing," Michael repeated. “You see, we woke up in a hotel room...”

“In a scary hotel room!”

"Do you want to tell it yourself?" the bearded man asked annoyed.

“You must be more detailed!” The Scotsman complained.

“Let me explain first!”

“You take the fun away...”

“I take the fun away?!”

Neil rolled his eyes and sighed. He often thought about how well he had chosen the cast, and to tell the truth, it surprised him as much as it pleased him, and some times, like this one, it annoyed him.

A Welshman and a Scotsman, an angel and a devil.

Natural enemies. _What had he been thinking about?_

“Well, if you think you are more fun tell him yourself!”

“With pleasure!” David replied.

“But don’t forget to mention the part where I was right…”

“Oh shut up!”

The writer decided that the best thing would be to prepare a coffee.

Or perhaps a drink.

It was going to be a long night.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it!  
> It took us a long time to finish this, so if you liked it please share or leave a comment!
> 
> Michael / David in the remote case you're reading this ...  
> No, sorry, I can't even imagine what I could say. So far the message.
> 
> We love you. That's it!


End file.
